man nature's unfailing,
universally sought comforter in all trying circumstances--self-excuse.
"He always was cold and hard. He has become a monster. And even in his
best days he wasn't worthy to have such a woman as I am. And now he is
thinking of cheating me--and will do it--unless God prevents him."

He drowsed on, more asleep than awake, not even rousing when they put him
to bed. He did not go to Saint X that day. But he did go later--went to
lie in state in the corridor of the splendid hall he had given Tecumseh;
to be gaped at by thousands who could not see that they were viewing a
few pounds of molded clay, so busy were their imaginations with the vast
fortune it was supposed he left; to be preached over, the sermon by Dr.
Hargrave, who believed in him--and so, in estimating the man as
distinguished from what the system he lived under had made of him,
perhaps came nearer the truth than those who talked only of the facts of
his public career--his piracy, his bushwhacking, his gambling with the
marked cards and loaded dice of "high finance"; to be buried in the old
Cedar Grove Cemetery, with an imposing monument presently over him,
before it fresh flowers every day for a year--the Marchioness of St.
Berthe contracted with a florist to attend to that.

* * * * *

Four days after the funeral Janet sent a servant down to Adelaide and to
Mrs. Ranger with notes begging them to come to Point Helen for lunch.
"We are lonely and _so_ dreary," she wrote Adelaide. "We want you--need
you." Only one answer was possible, and at half-past twelve they set out
in Mrs. Ranger's carriage. As they drove away from the Villa d'Orsay Mrs.
Ranger said: "When does Mrs. Dorsey allow to come home?"

"Not for two years more," replied Del.

Ellen's expression suggested that she was debating whether or not to
speak some thought which she feared Del might regard as meddlesome. "When
you finally do have to get out," she said presently, "it'll be like
giving up your own home, won't it?"

"No," said Del. "I hate the place!" A pause, then: "I wrote Mrs. Dorsey
yesterday that we wouldn't stay but three months longer--not in any
circumstances."

The old woman's face brightened. "I'm mighty glad of that," she said
heartily. "Then, you'll have a home of your own at last."

"Not exactly," was Del's reply, in a curious tone. "The fact is, I'm
going to live with Dr. Hargrave."

Ellen showed her astonishment. "And o